


The Smallest Dragon

by JustABitFishy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A character with less than ten seconds of screen time., Abstract, Alternative Perspective, And less in the books., First Person Narrative, Gen, I had fun writing it., Post-Series, Triwizard Tournament, i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-24 18:46:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4931083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustABitFishy/pseuds/JustABitFishy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A perspective from one of the series' smallest characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I sat down, bored out of my mind. The Boy is away. The Boy of the Golden Egg, _my_ golden egg, controls my fate. As of right now, he has ordered me to guard his desk. I will serve him well, despite my size. It would not reflect well on me, or my breed, should I fail. Three inches long I may be, with another two inches of tail, but I can still breathe a stream of hot fire half the length of my body. My wings are tiny, but strong enough to lift not only me, but the letters the Boy trusts me to deliver around the Ministry. Other wizards use magically folding letters or small owls, but I am more faster than any letter and less messy than any owl. My tail spikes are honed daily on the nail file the Boy keeps for the purpose, and razor-sharp enough to open any letter quickly and easily. The Boy, though that title no longer fits him, trusts me to do my job quickly and efficiently.

My siblings are proud of me. My clutch mates are as small as I am, and know the hardships I face. All four of us were born from the same mother, magically changed by the Ministry to our small size. We will never grow, unlike our larger cousins, and will have the flame power of a very young dragon for the rest of our lives. They know how I can fight, as I fought against that tiny version of the Boy’s competition. My spikes sent him scurrying away quite quickly, and he never touched the Boy’s homework again.

My breed mocks my size. They are tens of meters long, with a flame that burns like the sun and impenetrable scales to match. To them, my barely hot flame and easily squishable size are the butt of jokes. To them, the sharpness of teeth or spikes doesn’t matter, only the size and force behind a bite or tail swing. They are overgrown brutes, too large for their small brains.

Oh dear. I’m quite sorry. In my ranting, I rather forgot to introduce myself. I am Rowir, son of Naginata and Kerot. I am the assistant to the Boy Who Lived, winner of the Triwizard tournament. I am also a Miniature Hungarian Horntail.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not intended, but hey, it works.

_“Potter!”_ The noise reverberated up the hallway.

The aforementioned wizard poked his nose out of the office. “What? What’s wrong?” Nothing seemed wrong, but then, someone yelling his name could mean anything from “There’s a lethal spell flying toward a high-ranking Ministry official” to “Your daughter decided to skip classes to play with the Fire Crabs again, and it’s your turn to go get her.” There really was no telling.

“Your blasted dragon is using my letters for target practice!”

Oh. Well. That wasn’t the best thing, but it certainly wasn’t unexpected. Rowir was good at his job, always had been, but he’d always had a protective streak. If he was attacking someone, they’d earned it, and that particular coworker had a nasty streak to rival a basilisk.

“Get over it, Johansson, you’re just jealous!”

“Of that midget?! It can’t even set anything on fire!”

A beat passed…

“Ow! Bloody dragon! It bit me!”

 

“You little monster, you enjoy doing that.”

The dragon preened, looking both smug and vengeful.

“You’re going to get me in trouble.”

Rowir gave him a look, as if to chide him for overreacting.

“I know they’re not going to fire me, but still, I need to behave.”

He was treated to another unimpressed look, and the dragon turned his back, wings spread.

“Oh, fine.”

He began scratching that one patch that Rowir always tried to get but never could, and the dragon stretched and relaxed, forming a scaly puddle of dragon in the middle of the desk.

“By the way, he always sends the important letters with that big grey owl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ask and you shall receive, my lovelies. I got the highest amount of comments and kudos I ever have on a single fic, most of them asking for more, so here you go. Feedback means you may get more Rowir. Do with that information what you will. This one's not terribly long, but there may still be more coming, so keep an eye out.


End file.
